


Care

by mii_rose



Series: Was it a car or a cat I saw? [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anorexia Nervosa, Asperger Syndrome, Attention Deficit Disorder, Autophagia, Bibliomania, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bulimia Nervosa, Bullying, F/M, Hypersomnia, Hypochondria Disorder, Imaginary Friends, Insomnia, Major Depression, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Schizophrenia, Synesthesia, Tourette's Syndrome, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mii_rose/pseuds/mii_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You really think like that?" Molly asked, but Ralph didn't reply. After a moment of silence, she sighed into the air. "Serial killers in movies are scary." Molly stated. "Illnesses aren't."<br/>After thinking for a moment, Ralph replied.<br/>"You can run away from serial killers." Said Ralph. "You can't run away from an illness."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Five Years ago two young children, boy and girl, sat upon a red paisley carpet in front of a large bookshelf in a slightly cramped room. Boxes packed with paintings lay wherever they would fit. The two kids slouched over a scrapbook of surreal paintings, staring, awestruck.  
"Wow, where does your mommy learn to do this stuff?" Molly inquired. Ralph shrugged. "My daddy does art, too. He says your mommy's art is different though. Do you know what he means by that?" Ralph crossed his legs and pretended to think.  
"My mom has an illness," He said. "An illness that makes her paintings look different." Ralph paused and rummaged around in his pockets, checking each one. In his back left pocket he found a crumpled piece of parchment, which he unfolded to reveal sloppy lines of black ink. On it was a list of long names.  
"This one is supposed to be bye-po-lare." Ralph pointed to the black and white head shot of a woman. "And," He pointed to another photo. "This one is ski-zo-phre-niya." Ralph shuffled uncomfortably. The photo was nightmarishly surreal. "Mom says that's what I've got." Ralph's voice trailed off on the last few words, as if it hurt to talk. He put the paper down beside him and stopped listing.  
"Aw, Ralphie, don't act like that." Molly twirled her hair nervously around her finger, her other hand smoothing her blonde locks as they spun around. The motion mimicked that of a tailor spinning thread. "You know I don't care about what you've got. I just care about you." Her large eyes blinked at him innocently.  
It seemed very hard to believe her at this point. As if trying to start an arguement, Ralph mumbled a comeback. "Well you sure care about what you've got."  
"I don't care about it, silly!" Molly must have overheard him. "I embrace it." Molly flung her golden curls over her shoulder and smiled kindly. "But why would you want to?" "Because it means I'm intelligent." She sounded disturbingly optimistic. "Well, It's just . . . different for me." Ralph replied nervously. "My illness is nothing for me to be proud of. It's something for me to be scared of."  
"You really think like that?" Molly asked, but Ralph didn't reply. After a moment of silence, she sighed into the air. "Serial killers in movies are scary." Molly stated. "Illnesses aren't."  
After thinking for a moment, Ralph replied.  
"You can run away from serial killers." Said Ralph. "You can't run away from an illness."  
It was five years later that he did.


	2. Sharp Words

_"Ralph?"_

The word pounds against your skull.  
Where did it come from?

_"Ralph!"_

It...doesn't seem like a hallucination. Are you dreaming?

_"Ralph, wake up!"_

The dark color you saw turns red, and it stings. You open your eyes to a bright light in a small white room.  
"Ralph!"

A familiar voice calls out to you, and suddenly you're engulfed in warmth and the smell of vanilla.  
"Ralph,thank god! I thought you were going to be out forever. I don't know what I'd have done if that had happened. . ." Your mother presses her face to your's. You want to ask her what happened, but you're not even sure she knows.

Instead, you look around.

You see your father, and your grandmother, and grandfather, and they're all on the verge of tears.  
They look at you with smiles, however, and they're all frantically trying to tell you how much they love you and how glad they are that you're okay all at once but you can't understand them.

Your father is holding a tissue boxand is pulling a tissue out of it to wipe his tears. Your grandmother and grandfather are hugging each other and crying. Your mother is crying tears of joy on your chest and hugging you and her blonde hair is covering her face and making her look like a stranger. You try to form the words what happened with your mouth, but all that comes out is an intelligible grunting noise.

"Wu-"  
You cut yourself off as your mother turns to face a man walking into the room.

The man is a nurse.

You are in a hospital somewhere.

You didn't think it was possible, but you are now even more confused than you were before.  
You raise your eyebrows at the doctor as he moves towards you, pushing your grandmother aside and politely tapping your mother on the shoulder. He gives a sympathetic look and she sighs, picking her head up off of you and reaching over to the tissue box in your father's hands.

"Hello, Ralph. How are you feeling?"  
The doctor's hollow words echo inside your skull. He sounds so casual. You wonder how he can act like that when your whole family is in tears, and you don't even know what's happening. You wonder about what happened, and even more so than that, what's going to happen next. You would speak; ask about it, why you're in this hospital bed, but your voice box stays deathly still in your sore throat and you're left laying helplessly, confused.  
"My name is Mr.Halloway; I'll be your nurse. I'm just here to check up on you and make sure you're doing alright. How do you feel?" You notice Mr.Halloway just asked the same question twice, and then it hits you that It's probably because you, of course, didn't reply.

You hesitate a while before speaking.  
"Good." You barely breathe the words.  
Mr.Halloway turns around and puts down his clipboard. "Well, that's good." He says. "Good is good." He turns around as he says it, a small smile faintly seen on his face.

"Now, if I could just take your vitals, I'll be off." He says, pulling a thin, pole-like, rolling machine over towards you. He pulls out a blue velcro-sealed armband and holds it up. The noise seems to come from everywhere as the machine beeps.  
You hold out your arm to him, and he secures the strap around it. You feel almost immediate pressure on your skin, tightening over your muscles and making your heartbeat throb in your arm.

"We were so worried, Ralph." Your father speaks for the first time since you've been here. "We thought you were never going to wake up."  
You raise an eyebrow in suspicion. "Never wake up? What?"  
"Ralph, you don't remember? The police made such a big deal out of it, I thought you'd never forget." What is going on?  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
Your mother interrupts. "Sweetie, you just woke up from a coma."

Your breathing hitches.

You freeze to the spot.

"Raise your tongue, please." Mr.Halloway asks nonchalantly. You involuntarily raise your tongue and are immediately touched by something cold and foreign in your mouth.  
You sit in your bed in utter silence as your mother chatters in the background.

_"We were so worried."_

The words knock the wind out of you.

_"You were banging your head against the walls and you just wouldn't stop."_

They pin you down and pull out a knife.

_"There was so much blood everywhere and we had to call the hospital."_

They drag the cold metal instrument along your neck slowly, watching the blood seep out.

_"You beat yourself into a coma before the police could get there. We thought you were going to die."_

Blood drips onto the sheets below you and you faint from blood loss.

You are Ralph Lambert, and you've just woken up from a coma which you beat yourself into.

The words, the thoughts, the sounds; everything hurts. But when that kind woman steps in through the door and tells your parents that visiting hours are over, and that you should get some rest, and when Dr.Halloway pulls that thermometer out from underneath your tongue and discards the plastic cover, and when he leaves with the cart down the hallway, and his words; _Thank you._ It all slows down, and you find your eyelids becoming heavy. They droop down and cover your coffee brown eyes and you drift off into a deep sleep.

You do not dream.


End file.
